


Life Was All Black and White

by PirateArrowXAB



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Multi, Soulmark AU, Soulmarks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2019-08-20
Packaged: 2020-07-31 06:07:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20110372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PirateArrowXAB/pseuds/PirateArrowXAB
Summary: And then you came bringing colours and light."Sora will gather mark after mark, a rainbow streaked across his skin. There’ll come a time in his life when he faces thirteen darknesses, six lights and more at his side, and he'll stand completely painted in the marks that bloom when hearts connect."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [True Colors](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2121813) by [lady_ragnell](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_ragnell/pseuds/lady_ragnell). 
  * Inspired by [not in what they say (just in who they are)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14319309) by [mischief7manager](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mischief7manager/pseuds/mischief7manager). 

Riku is two when his family moves into the house beside the woman with deep laugh lines and the vibrant son with sky-blue eyes. They’re invited over to meet the pair within hours of their first day there, tea and chatter on the patio as the children are sat on the sparse lawn to play. Set down, Sora immediately jumps up and runs to the new person, arms outstretched to make a new friend. He trips. Falls. Riku catches him.

In the years to come, they’ll look back on that moment, laugh about the portent of things to come. They’ll fall quiet, looking at their marks and think of the many times and ways they’ve caught each other, the ways they’ve fallen.

Sora will gather mark after mark, a rainbow streaked across his arms and shoulders, neck and face, hands and legs. There’ll come a time in his life when he faces thirteen darknesses, six lights and more at his side, and there’s barely any skin not painted in the marks that bloom when hearts connect.

Riku’s mark is by far his biggest and one of his brightest – silver streaking along his forearms, chin and neck.

Riku has a band of dazzling sky-blue along the back of his neck, splodges across his shoulders and the side of his face. He’s almost embarrassed by its extent in his early teens, wearing high-necked vests and slouching so his face is hidden. Maleficent smirks at it when she notices, drags her finger along his cheek before he can recoil. She leaves no mark.

Ansem does. He won’t notice until a few days after the islands disappear, when he sees the stain above his heart. Deep indigo fading to black at the edges, like the portals he’s only just learned how to use. Like darkness. It’s a while before he understands who left it.

(At this point in their stories, to the Island trio a mark can only be left by contact between people, no gloves or sleeves or barriers. Very few people know of stains left just above hearts yet, when the connections between people need no brush of fingers to leave a mark. Riku’s mark is the not the first for the people tangled up in Xehanort’s machinations, simply one of many. Some will be good. Some will be bad.)

Riku’s never sure if Ansem had a silver mark above his heart in return, the space covered by the ugly opacity of the Heartless emblem. They’ll never know the emblem was placed there deliberately, to hide the faint golden-brown mark left long before. The emblem serves its purpose, anyway. The mystery endures.

Sora’s right palm is stained bright pink, the same shade as the handprint on Riku’s shoulder. Kairi has a vibrant blue palm to match Sora’s, from when a young boy met a girl upon the shores of an unfamiliar world. She’s a little shy of Riku at first, but grabs his shoulder as she peers into a rock pool, relying on him not to let her tumble in. Riku won’t admit it for a long while, but he cherishes the marks and their meanings. He’ll catch his friends when they fall.

The Islands fall to darkness, nobody to catch them, and Sora wakes in Traverse Town. His right hand isn’t bare of colour, he’s met too many people for that, but his cherished streak of bright pink is missing. Riku moves Kairi’s empty body to Neverland, her hand falling open as he props her against the clock tower. He stares at her empty palm for what seems like hours. Soulmarks don’t fade on death. He can’t imagine what happened to the bond between his two best friends, blames Sora, the keyblade, himself. (The bond is still there, of course. Just different.)

Donald and Goofy don’t know yet that Sora is uncharacteristically quiet. They attribute his difficulty in finding a smile to the fall of his home and whatever injury keeps prompting him to look at his hand (Donald casts cure, over and over. It does nothing). He brightens the next, perhaps excited by the journey, or his new friends, or the star-shaped mark he’d discovered that first night, glowing pink right over his heart. (It joins the strange green mark he’d never been able to explain, a mark that’s overlain his heart for as long as he’s been alive. He’d like to meet the person who marked him so young, and in such an odd way).

Sora wanders the worlds, his collection of soulmarks growing. He can recall the hearts connected to most of them. (Waking from a strange pod, a year of sleep behind him, he finds three new marks, with no idea who left them). Donald considers hiding them, at one point, such a multitude of markings almost unheard of in every world they visit.

Riku wanders them too, always a step or two behind Sora, and deliberately doesn't collect many new colours. His palm is stained red from his handshake with the King, second only in vividness to Sora and Kairi. He closes a door and survives a castle. He steals a uniform and watches over his friend, cloaked in darkness. Deliberately doesn’t receive marks from a nobody, a replica, a witch.

Kairi remains on the Islands, unable to add to her marks. She has to remain content with her silver palm and the strange mark over her heart. For a year, the blue is achingly, unknowably familiar. A red-haired stranger in a black cloak drags her from her home, dodging her kicks and punches with ease (is he used to abducting teenagers or something?) until one connects, a pink shadow on his jaw. The blackish-red smudging her knuckles disappears not two days after Saíx takes her to the cold, empty castle.

As Ansem, Riku is devoid of colour beneath the cloak but for the stain over his heart. He lies awake, unable to sleep, hand fisted over the absent colours at his neck, his shoulder. They’ll be there when he fixes this. They have to be.

Kairi takes his hand, leads him to Sora. Fixes this.

Colourful bursts across pale skin. His marks are no less vibrant then when he finally accepted the darkness. Sora and Kairi grin at him, and he finally manages a smile back.

If a few tears escape, nobody points it out.

They’re sprawled on the sand of the play island. It’s been a few days since they all returned home, the king’s summons arriving only this morning. Kairi is quiet. The letter requested Riku and Sora for the Mark of Mastery, no mention of the third of their trio. Kairi’s curled against Sora, face hidden in his jacket as she traces his soulmarks. Riku’s sitting upright, examining Sora’s chest through his open shirt. Sora himself is lying on the sand, head in Riku’s lap as he soaks in the evening sunlight, lazily explaining each blot of colour.

Donald’s blue marks his knee, Goofy’s yellow at his elbow, from their tangled mess of a meeting. Streaks and patches and brushes of colour from allies met while fighting, bright pinches and smudges across his hands from more cordial meetings. His little finger on the right is clear, now, one of the strange marks discovered after his time in the pod gone. It was the same bright white as the new mark over Kairi’s heart, a neat little circle branded onto her chest below Sora’s sky-blue splodge. Riku won’t talk about the year that Sora lay asleep and forgotten, but he does clear up some mysteries.

Soulmarks are a colourful representation of two hearts meeting, a bright scar remaining of the first contact between people whose hearts are linked. When a body and heart are separated in the creation of a heartless and nobody, there’s no remaining link between the heart and the colour it leaves, so soulmarks of those who fall to darkness and wake as nobodies simply disappear. Riku recites the information, strangely apathetic. He’s too busy mentally censoring out Ansem’s vitriol to be enthusiastic. This should be fascinating, Sora and Kairi staring wide-eyed at him and the information Ansem had discovered and recorded, but.

The last time Riku heard these words, there was a cloaked teenager slumped against the wall, memories unspooling as DiZ fills his head with thoughts of a normal life. They add the illusions of a few marks, to alleviate suspicions. DiZ creates splotches of dull mustard, paints the trio that Roxas will hang around with in something like soulmarks. DiZ startles up suddenly, leaves the room for Riku to complete the download. Leaves him to write in a line of code to explain away the dull red mark on Roxas’ now uncovered thumb.

He must have brushed against a person in one of the worlds he’d visited. His glove must have been torn.

Out there is a person with no mark from Roxas in return, obviously. Nobodies don’t have hearts. They can’t leave soulmarks.

(Axel wrings his hands together, high over the digital Twilight Town, distractedly taps his fingers where they’re stained beneath his gloves.)

Kairi falls silent after the explanation, hand falling over her heart.

“I’ve got Naminé’s mark over my heart, though.”

Riku lays his hand flat over Sora’s heart, not looking at either of them.

“That’s different. It’s meant to be there.”

It’s not something DiZ had ever told him about, the shadows left by a nobody over their somebody’s heart. It just feels right to him, nobody else it could be.

Kairi huffs, but leaves him be. They don’t push him about his year away. He’s grateful.

Sora taps his hand, breaking him out of his thoughts. Riku lifts his hand, slightly, tracing the four marks scattered over Sora’s heart. The green star has been there for as long as he’s known Sora. Nobody can explain it, and at this point they just accept it as one of Sora’s irregularities. The pink star, shining above it, he can guess easily. It’s the same as the mark over Kairi’s heart, after all.

The other two are a mystery.

One is most definitely Roxas’ mark, anyway.

The two marks overlay the green one, vaguely crescent shaped and curling together at the end. One is deep bluish-purple, fading to black at the centre. The other, the mark Riku taps now, is a dull yellow before transitioning to a darker colour at its middle. They look like bruises, one fresh, one old. They remind Riku painfully of the mark over his own heart.

He doesn't want to think about his own marks, not the nobody who sleeps in Sora’s heart or the mystery colour that makes him feel lost every time he looks at it. He traces the twin marks, hair drifting over Sora’s face and making him sneeze. He really needs to cut that.

“They look like seashell halves.”

Kairi raises her head at that, smiling and sensing Riku’s attempt to lighten in the mood. She links her finger with Riku’s, moving their hands back and forth over the mystery marks.

“Nah, looks more like two halves of a heart.”

Riku lets his worries melt away, bickering gently with Kairi as they lean against Sora together. At one point, he protests acting as the cushion of the group. Riku and Kairi look at one another, laughing before dropping to lie entirely on Sora, squashing his protests as he attempts to flail around.

It’s the best evening they’ll have together for a long time, and the second-last time they’ll gather as a trio on the play island for even longer.

For now, they lie together in the sand and enjoy their slice of peace.

(On their last night, Riku gets up from the beach, joins Kairi and Sora on the Paopu tree. They’ve saved him a Paopu fruit, and the three of them share it together. The sun sets red, setting their marks aflame, old and new – Sora’s slate grey handprint, where Kairi’s once covered, from helping a lost Keyblade master on the shores of an unfamiliar world. Kairi’s fiery knuckles, matching the bright bruise over Lea’s jaw. The light can't quiet reach Riku’s chest, can’t illuminate the bright purple thumbprint in the centre of Ansem’s mark, but his replica’s mark feels warm all the same).

_He’s running, colourless, souls sparkling around him._

He leaves Aqua and Ven to reunite with their lost friend, waves his slate-marked had as he goes. Bunches a fist over the now bright green star over his heart, Ventus’s awakening brightening all of the marks left by the sleeping wielder.

He doesn't think to check what mark Terra might leave. There’ll be time for that later.

_Two selves run past him, swinging keyblades at nothing. There’s bright blue on one’s knee, vibrant yellow on the other’s elbow. He dashes forward, crashes through them. Lands with two more colours back where they belong._

He stops to check as he leaves another of the Keyblade graveyard’s arenas, Roxas and Xion and Lea a huddled black mess behind him. Kairi had guessed two halves of a seashell, Riku a ‘weird heart, c’mon guys, it’s obvious’. Sora still can’t tell what Roxas and Xion’s marks are meant to represent: two separate marks curling together. One glowing indigo, one bright gold.

_He’s nearly there, solid and colourful once more. But not complete just yet. A trio of selves, running, flying, falling. They have no visible colours, but Sora can _feel _the absence of the marks over his heart._

Kairi disappears, and Sora can feel the fading of the mark over his chest, an icy pain as the vibrant pink turns pale.

_Two last selves, simply standing together. Looking out over the endless sky. He runs up behind them, catching the bodies in an embrace. Silver wrapping around his neck, pink shining over his heart._

Ventus, Xion and Roxas have simple marks over their hearts, beating new and anew – small heart-shaped marks, the colour of the sky. They’re not as vibrant as they could be.

_He crashes back to the Final World, sky and sea endless around him. He’s reflected below and above and around himself._

_He gets up again. Chirithy sighs. _

When someone dies, their marks don’t disappear, just fade to a shadow of their former vibrancy.

The sky blue marks have all faded, but they are not perhaps as pale as they could be.

Kairi and Riku decide that’s enough for them, and set out together.


	2. Chapter 2

“Why do they have those colours on their arms? Did they spill paint on themselves?”

Roxas looks somewhat smug at his observation. Axel’s not impressed – he knows Roxas and Xion only learned what paint was yesterday. He’d bloody told them. 

“Or is it tattoos?”

Xion looks a little more pensive - the tattoo talk was a few weeks ago, after all, when they'd asked about the markings under his eyes. 

(“They’ll stop you from crying.” “You still need them?” “Oh shut up, Isa.” “Saíx’.”)

(“They make me look cool.”)

He sighs, waves the remnants of his ice cream about. He supposes it’s not quite as difficult as the love talk, or explaining girls to Roxas, or his worst nightmare, the potential ‘parents and babies’ talk. Why is he doing this again?

There’s two pairs of eyes watching him, enthralled. The ice cream’s good, the ledge warm. They’ll find another thing to laugh about, another mission to recount, more questions to ask once this question time is over. That’s why he does it.

“Those, munchkins – no?”

“Xigbar already uses it”

“Ah. Welp. Anyway, those are soulmarks. People who form bonds or have connected hearts leave a mark when they first make contact with each other.”

He’s finishes talking, takes another bite of his ice cream. The kids seem to be taking in his words when Roxas lunges forward suddenly, poking him in the forehead. Axel sways back and drops the stick, pouts. That could have been a winner. The look of betrayal on Roxas' face is almost comical when, apparently, nothing happens expect for Axel's treat going flying. Kid’s strong and tends to forget it. On his other side, Xion still looks thoughtful, although he hadn’t missed her hand darting to briefly grab Roxas’ arm before she speaks.

“People who have connected hearts. Does that mean Nobodies can’t have them?” 

He very deliberately doesn’t think of the greenish-black mark on his left index finger, the dull reddish-black on Saíx’s matching fingertip.

(“I wanna see if it still works. We’ll do it somewhere they can’t see – our hands! As long as we wear our gloves we’ll be fine.” “If it works.” “It’ll work.”)

He doesn’t think of the pale green streak along his arm. Along Lea’s arm, from where he’d leaned against Isa that first day and murmered the beginnings of a plan to annoy the teacher. That mark is long gone, along with the matching reddish-orange stripe that doesn't adorn Saíx’s arm. They’d checked. He scratches his head. He could lie – he’s only back from Castle Oblivion, from Vexen’s old files and he’s omitting plenty already. What’s one more lie. Then again, all he needs is them crashing into each other on a mission, or getting curious and making sure they can’t leave soulmarks. Xemnas would care about a nobody and a replica with visible evidence of hearts, or bonds, or whatever leaves ‘a coloured scar from souls meeting’ (Isa’s words, not his). He’s honestly surprised they haven’t brought it up before. It’s also possible they’ve smacked into each other and just. Haven’t left marks.

What’s worse. Tell them no and they end up marked, find out he’s lying, not to mention all of the shit that would come with that discovery. Tell them yes and they can’t actually mark each other.

“Well. We’re not supposed to be able to have them, but I’ve heard of some nobodies with something like them”. (Marluxia and Larxene, yanking their gloves back on when he snuck up behind them. Zexion, and his habit of tugging his hood up to cover the back of his neck).

They beam in unison, then their faces fall, also in unison. It’s adorable. 

“We just tried it, though. Nothing happened”. 

He pulls off his right glove, leaves on his left one. No need to show them his own mark.

“It doesn't work if there's something in the way”.

Both of them rush to pull off gloves, and he reaches to catch Roxas’ arm, catch their eyes before they can do anything silly.

“The Organisation doesn't have soulmarks. We’re nobodies. Got it memorized?”

Roxas looks confused, but Xion picks up on the stressed words quickly (how much does she know about herself, he wonders? A head for secrets and double meanings will stand to her). She nods.

“This shouldn't work, and if it does, we don’t tell anyone.”

Roxas doesn’t seem cheered by this, but nods grimly before his smile returns.

“Don’t worry, Axel. We got it memorized”

Axel grins at him, releasing his arm. Then he reaches out, lightning fast, and taps the top of Roxas’ thumb.

His fingertip is stained a dull yellow, darkened at the centre. It looks like a bruise. It worked. Roxas is staring, enthralled, at the mark on his thumb, a small patch of deep red swirled with black. Xion is hanging off his shoulder, mouth open as she takes in the patch of colour. She looks up at him and he offers his hand. She pokes the top of his thumb, gingerly, the same area he’d left a mark on Roxas. Her eyes are squeezed shut, avoiding the sight of her fingertip as she draws back. He looks down at the blue-purple-black of his new mark, a sense of something like relief hitting him. Nobodies are a gamble. He wasn’t sure if replicas could ever leave marks.

“Nice colours, Xi”.

They’re not. Nobodies, if they can leave marks at all, leave dark, corrupted marks like bruises, or dried blood or green-tinted darkness. Still. They’re nice for being there at all. Xion opens her eyes at his words, squints down at her own dull red mark on her fingertip. She beams at him, something in her face like pure joy. She turns to Roxas, who seems to have gotten over his first ever soul mark, but still looks delighted. Xion offers her hand for Roxas to mark, and they grin up at him, hands all marked with the shadowy wash of their bonds. The rest of the afternoon passes in a blur of questions about soulmarks and colours and, once Axel’s established the boundary, definitely not any marks he might have had. Before.

They somehow avoid detection for the rest of the year. At least, Axel thinks they do, and there’s no repercussions he can recognise. Their gloves stay on permanently, quickly replaced at any hint of fraying or wear near the soulmarks. They’re careful around the dusks. They avoid apathetic questions on missions, (and pointed, searching queries when it’s Xigbar) the other members quizzing them on hearts and bonds and soulmarks. 

They see their marks in the brief instants between changing gloves, checking for wear. They see the gradual lightening of the colour, darkness gently receding like a wave on the shore. they don't know what it means, not yet.

Axel wonders, listening to his orders to track them both down, what their true colours might have been. He loses two of his three soulmarks in the space of a week. Xion’s mark fades, and with it go his memories of her. He’s unconscious, and doesn't notice. Roxas’ colours disappear as he watches, his glove off and Twilight Town sprawling before him as his best friend returns from whence he came. Axel doesn't cry. He’s a Nobody. That would be impossible (he can’t explain the burning in his eyes or tightness in his throat).

Saíx stares at his hand. Sora is on his way, Kairi in the dungeons. He’d gone to change his gloves, check his equipment before the inevitable fight. His index finger is blank. He stands for a while, staring at nothing. His thoughts whirl, frantic, and then stop. Saíx puts on a new glove and exits to wait for Sora.

Sorry’s fill the air, choked from tight throats and evident in the tight grip of hands at shoulders. Meaningless apologies and absolutions and promises. They’re sobbing, all three. Eventually they’ll have to get up, follow Sora to wherever this clash of light and darkness will lead. Not yet.

Eventually, Lea lets them go, releases their shoulders and ruffles their hair. Xion’s managed to stop crying (for now, he has a feeling this is going to be an emotional few days. Weeks, maybe. Perhaps months. They have them now, at least). He’s getting himself under control, scrubbing at his eyes with his sleeve. Roxas leans back, takes one look at their faces, emotional storms lurking at the surface, and the tentative grin on his face crumples. He starts crying again, and Xion makes a muted noise of distress and reaches to cup his cheek. She immediately yanks her hand back, though – it’s the hand she’s been holding to her chest this whole time, the hand she’d grabbed a fucking ethereal blade with, and Axel would happily go find Xemnas and kill him in an inventive and particularly nasty way, and –

“Huh. Nice colour, Xi.”

He’s barely aware of the words leaving his mouth, staring at Roxas’ face. At the deep, vibrant indigo along his cheek. He reaches for Xion’s hand, turning it to show a ruined glove and a scorched palm and pure, shining gold. Everywhere her glove has burned away is golden now. They’re laughing, crying and laughing through the tears and he pulls them back in for another hug, tugging them against his chest and under his chin. There’s a glowing golden streak along his collarbone and chest, a vivid indigo smear under the jut of his chin and down his neck. Xion has a fiery patch above her eye, Roxas a bright band along his forehead.

It’s a few weeks later, after tears and fading and recovery and laughter, and so many other things. After tracking and defeating a certain heartless.Roxas and Xion are outside somewhere, no doubt dodging Even and his endless questions and inability to hold a normal conversation (Ienzo still doesn't quite like talking to Lea, but he’s assured the kids he keeps asking Even to stop calling them fascinating).

They’re not sure about this. They don't want to be here, no matter what they might have said to him in the Gummiship on the way over. Lea's practiced enough at lying to smell bullshit a mile away. They're here, though, and that's not nothing.

Isa’s sitting on the bed, in borrowed clothes rather than a cloak. He looks worried, instead of cold. He stands, walks over. Lea meets him halfway, tears starting to roll down his cheeks, and when Isa reaches out to brush away the tears, just where his tattoos were, the brilliant thumbprint he leaves under one eye is as green as his eyes.It will take them a long, long time to transcend friendship, both needing space and time and for their nightmares to fade, but Isa kisses his forehead and it's a promise.

(Even walks in, grumbling about 'Young People', and promptly walks out, adding 'Public Displays of Affection!' to the long, long list of things he witters on about while Ienzo smiles, comforted by the familiar buzz of Even complaining). 

Roxas and Xion avoid Isa for weeks, no mean feat considering the size of their shared house in Twilight Town. Lea holds a tentative peace, splitting his time between Isa and the younger pair, trying to gather everyone for strained meals or sullen meetings. It’s awkward and uncomfortable, and he sometimes feels that even his friendship with Roxas and Xion might not be enough to overcome their dislike of Isa (their hatred and fear of Saíx). He would try not to think about it, but he’s learned all too well the dangers of letting a situation sour while playing at everything being normal.He dreads the day he might have to choose between them, but he has hopes it won’t happen – he’d asked Roxas and Xion, the three of them alone on the clock tower. They couldn't promise him anything, but they’re willing to try. Eventually. Lea wonders if soulmarks are even possible between the three. They’ve been avoiding touching one another with excruciating care. Isa’s been avoiding everyone but Lea, actually. His body is bare of colour but for his fire stained thumb (and one other mark), while Xion and Roxas have added more colours to their hands and arms; Hayner and Pence and Olette and Naminé and Ventus and Riku (surprisingly, Riku marked both of them, although the silver on Roxas’ upper arm is far, far paler than the handprint on Xion’s shoulder).

They’ve been living in Twilight Town for a month or so when Xion slips downstairs one night, shivery and hollow from nightmares. She stops just outside the kitchen door, staring at the figure slouched over at the table as he stares out through the window. She steps into the kitchen, and Isa looks around, catching sight of her. He moves as if to get up. It’s their usual dynamic, should she or Roxas enter a room with Isa in it or vice versa: without Axel there to mediate, one party always leaves.

His eyes are red-rimmed, his hands shaking slightly before he grasps the back of the chair to push it out.

“Wait – do you want some tea?”

Isa doesn't answer her, but he doesn’t move any further. Xion turns, setting the kettle on the hob. Behind her, there’s a muffled screech as Isa’s chair is pushed out. She doesn't turn back around, staring resolutely at the counter – Isa’s been giving her and Roxas space, Lea hasn't been pushing them to interact, the least she can do is respect his decisions- Isa sets two mugs down on the countertop beside her, leaning against it while the kettle boils. They don’t talk, the darkened kitchen quiet. It’s not their usual awkward silence, though, but something slightly more comfortable. Peaceful.

The kettle steams, and Xion makes two cups of tea. She stretches to put the box of teabags back in the cupboard, glances over as she settles back down. Isa’s wearing an old shirt, chest visible through the gape of missing buttons.

The black stain over his heart is visible, a sickly bruise in the moonlight.

It’s identical to the stain over her own, only covered in part by Sora’s faded sky blue. (Marks are always left when hearts are occupied. Xion wonders, sometimes, if Xehanort met the seven lights with twelve marks over his own heart.) Isa hands her a cup of tea, breaking her out of her thoughts. She takes it, allows her fingers to brush his. They drink their tea in quiet, comfortable darkness, leaning against the counter.

Eventually, they return to their rooms. Xion falls asleep after a time, after turning her hand in the moonlight, looking at the green streaking her fingertips.

Roxas doesn’t mark Isa through reunion or quiet understanding. He marks him because his burning curiosity finally gets the better of him, fear for the future, their future and the mulled, emotional mess (well, mess is the understatement of his life) of a family. Four of them, now, when he'd never thought past three, 'growing up'.

(A year, he thinks, sometimes, staring into space until the urge to destroy something fades. A year, two weeks more than Xion. So much less than two desperate teenagers with lost hearts, forced to somehow get through ten awful years as their fledgling emotions and a cruel puppet master tore them apart. Perhaps their mess of a family is doing alright for the beginning they'd had.)

He and Isa are up early one morning, early enough that they can enjoy the rosy morning before the other two wake up and their daily chaos reigns supreme. He's sitting at the table, beside Isa so that they can both look out of the window rather than at each other. Roxas stares at the clock tower, visible in the distance. He thinks back to a year ago, Axel laughing at them but genuine, something soft in his eyes as he looked at them. An explanation, a desperate need to know. His hand darts out, and he taps the top of Isa’s thumb, two fingers across from a cheerful indigo patch. Leaves gold splotched behind to match a green fingertip. The colours aren't shining, but they're certainly not weak, either.

The marks aren’t forgiveness, and there’s still much to talk about, things that aren't going to simply disappear from memory.

They are a promise, though. Things will get better.

Eventually.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wayfinder trio next!


	3. Chapter 3

Ventus wakes up, and everything is wrong. There’s a woman at the side of his bed, a woman who brushes the hair out of his eyes when he allows her offered hand (she leaves a slate-blue smudge above his eyebrow). His arms, though, his hands – they’re bare. They shouldn't be bare. He can’t remember why. (In his dreams, he sees them - lines of pink, yellow and orange, drawn along his left arm. Splotches of deep red and dark pink on his right. A wash of colour along his cheek, but he can never see nor remember it properly. It could be cream, or pink, or a very pale purple. Blots and smears on his fingers and wrists and shoulders. He forgets them all as soon as he wakes, memories scattered like dandelion seeds blown carelessly away.)

Terra’s mark is the last he receives for a long time. He claps a golden-brown handprint onto his shoulder some days after Ventus first arrives, to congratulate him on their first spar. It’s every bit as vibrant as Aqua’s. They match the brilliant green of his own marks across Terra’s palm, Aqua’s fingertips. He also has the steel grey print covering his palm, from his first official meeting with the master of the Land of Departure. Eraqus’ mark fades at the edges, bleeding into inky fingertips and wrist, as if Eraqus’ mark covers the dark one beneath. The bruised black below is Master Xehanort’s colour, according to Eraqus. (Ventus will never know if Xehanort’s hand is stained green in return. Xehanort has always worn gloves, will always wear them, even at the final clash between light and darkness, so many years in the future).

Ventus has other marks, though. Strange marks, a memento of people he must have met, only he can’t remember who put them there, who’s travelling the worlds marked with green.They say you can’t feel anything from your marks, that they’re only a scar of the moment your hearts meet. Ventus isn't sure.

His right hand is mostly covered with Eraqus and Xehanort’s colours, but there’s a little mark at the very centre of his palm. It’s a little circle of grey, and he gets the feeling when he sees it that it was once much brighter. He always feels strange when he looks at it, like he’s missing something. Someone?

He prefers it to the black mark.

Master Xehanort’s mark is black, yes, but it’s deep blues and purples and greens fading to black at the centre, like a fresh bruise. This mark is pure black. It’s a little bigger than his fist, sitting directly over his heart. He doesn't like to look at it for too long. It makes him feel… (bad. Bad, angry, sadfuriouslostterrifieddevestated)… alone, somehow. He still spends time staring at it in the mirror, though, for while the black leaves him sick to his stomach, he’s fine as long as he focuses on the blue. It’s a bright patch, shaped somewhat like a heart, brushed across the centre of the black mark like a break in the clouds. (It will brighten, when he retreats once more into Sora’s heart, and will be one of his most vivid marks when he wakes after too many years).

Ventus runs to Terra, in the Graveyard. Aqua pulls him back, knowing all too well why neither of them are marked with golden brown (and hadn’t that just killed Ven, waking up to the thrill of defeating Vanitas, if only temporarily, and getting Aqua back. Waking up to a colourless shoulder, to Aqua’s arm unmarked where terra had brushed against her in their youth). Terra’s mark isn’t his only missing colour: Lea and Isa’s orange-red and green, Ienzo’s blue-grey are all gone, Zack’s deep blue horribly faded. But Terra hits hard.It’s not Terra, and darkness descends, Ventus dragged into a cyclone of heartless and the shadows within. It’s cold, and he can’t find Aqua, and he’s hit with the terrifying thought that this isn’t his first time pulled into darkness, and then it all stops.

He’s told later that Sora did something, saved his heart, saved them all. Sounds like Sora.

It’s not Terra, and an armoured figure – Terra’s armour – blocks Not-Terra’s attack. That’s not Terra, either, but it feels like him, and has to Aqua pull him back to abandon the armour and prepare, darkness descending.

A stupendous attack by Sora later (the keyblades fly to him, and spots on Ventus’ arms and shoulders and face hurt, he wants to curl up and cry and he doesn’t know why), and they’re running through a labyrinth. Ventus can’t help but feel that they’re being shepherded somewhere – he sees Riku and the king fighting dark-cloaked figures in two different courtyards (is that another Riku??), turns towards them with Aqua close behind, only for a wall to slam down. They can’t get to any courtyards to help, a similar wall rushing up when Aqua spots more of their friends, claymores and keyblades hurled between three cloak-clad figures and Kairi. They finally run into an open space, no walls blocking them off. It’s suspiciously similar to the spaces their friends had been fighting in, Ventus muses, and then he’s forced to drop suddenly, to slide under Vanitas’ razor-wave swing as he emerges from a burst of shadows. Aqua dances around the not-Terra from before as he charges from behind Vanitas, dodging his wave of hammer-blows. Aqua and Ven meet, standing back to back as their enemies rush them.

The battle isn’t going well. Vanitas was powerful before, and that was without Xehanort pouring a factory of fear into him. Terra’s always been a difficult opponent, and he adds Darkness to his attacks now, quicker and more vicious than before. Aqua and Ven are holding their own, but barely. Ven’s reaching for his last hi-potion, focused on healing the pair so Aqua can conserve her energy for offensive magic, when there’s a familiar shout behind him and Sora runs in. He smiles at the other boy, leaving the potion as the green light of a Curaga spell washes over him. Sora plays support, leaving Ventus to counter Vanitas’ familiar attacks with an occasional blast of magic from the others. He’s fast, strong, ruthless – but Ventus is better, supported by his friends and recovered from his slumber. Vanitas falls.

Not literally. Vanitas dies on his feet, staggering forward to face Ventus. His helmet cracks as he moves, Sora gasping in the background as Vanitas’ face is revealed. He looks like Sora, Ventus belatedly realises, only stained by darkness. He’s the piece that was torn from Ven, while Sora was the piece that recompleted him (black staining his chest, a little piece of sky stealing back the centre right over his heart). Ventus raises his hand, laying it over Vanitas’ chest, where his own black mark stains. The bodysuit peels away, almost at his command (and with that suit, the lack of hearts connected to whatever small, wretched thing sits in Vanitas’ chest is clear. Nobody has ever touched Vanitas, never reached out. Why would they?

Vanitas has a mark the colour of a bruise mottling the skin over his heart. It’s exactly the shape of Ventus’ black stain, as if the bruise had covered it over. At the very centre, though, there’s a tiny smudge of green. Ventus’ other half reaches out and taps Ven’s chest, over his own mark. He looks almost contrite.

“To remember me by.”

Then he steps away, Sora yelling to him as Vanitas fades away into darkness. (Later, when everything is over. Ventus stands in front of a mirror, looks at the black mark over his heart, with its bright blue centre. Both are faded, but both are there. They never fade, just change in intensity. There isn’t much research into soulmarks. Xehanort came close to the truth of hearts, but never thought to investigate the colours that remain when literal hearts meet. A simple little thing like dying won’t remove the scars of that.)

Ven doesn't know how to feel. He looks up at Sora, lost, and takes a step towards him – only to leap back as the high-pitched whine in his ears fades and he hears Aqua _screaming_ at him, as not-Terra’s keyblade screeches into the earth where he was standing a scant few seconds ago. Ventus yelps, he and Sora summoning their keyblades in unison and jumping to attack. Ventus doesn’t know how Aqua’s been holding Terra off on her own. Maybe the death of Vanitas spurred him on, maybe he’s been holding back. He’s slammed into the ground, the walls, into Sora and Aqua more times than he can count. He keeps getting up. They all keep getting up, keep swinging, keep healing and hauling each other up until not-Terra finally staggers back, sinking to the ground. Aqua and Ven run to him, only to be rewarded with sharp chains digging into them, whipping them about the battleground. Dangling far overhead, Ven can’t help the tears. He’d tried his best to keep his promise, and he’s about to fall to his best friend’s hand. The earth spins around him, his body weightless – and something catches him, jolting his neck as darkness takes his sight.

There’s a hand cradling the back of his neck, his face pressed against something warm. They’re all crying, a confused, delighted mess of arms and embraces. Terra pulls them both in, Sora heading off to give them privacy. Ventus lets his head fall into Terra’s chest, Aqua pressed against his side, and the world falls away for a time. Eventually, they have to get up, follow Sora to the end of everything. Terra squeezes the back of his neck, gently pushes them both up, then freezes. Aqua and Ven raise their heads immediately, worried that something’s gone wrong, but nothing seems amiss. Besides Terra. He’s crying, not the few tears when they’d first embraced, but a sudden rush down his face as he stares at his hands.

Ventus has a golden-brown patch curved around his neck, fingers of colour disappearing into his hair. Aqua has a clear handprint on her shoulder. Terra’s hands are covered entirely in vivid colour – his right hand is bright slate blue, his left a glowing green. (They will spend the rest of their lives between worlds. Terra will gain new marks, regain some old ones. Aqua and Ven will have new colours of their own. These, though, these are Terra’s first cherished marks, his stolen body cleared of all colour but for the bruise over his heart.)

For now, they are all marked by one another, the bonds between them properly showing. For now, they’ll make the journey to Sora and finish this. (Making their way through the labyrinth and only getting a little lost, the trio turn a corner and Ventus runs into a boy wearing his face. Literally runs. His hands come up, slamming into the person’s chest to stop their heads colliding. Roxas ends up with a green smear on his neck, an apologetic Aqua who had mistaken him for ‘Ven when his eyes went gold and he tried to kill us’, and reacted poorly, and a new appreciation for Xion’s issues with appearance. Everyone else ends up quite confused, with the exception of Lea.)

They have a quiet ceremony, after everything, leave their charms on Eraqus’ marker. Terra’s fingers dig into the skin over his heart, where a steel-grey cloud does not cover bruise-black, but does seep from beneath. The grey had become apparent after everything, when they’d finally had a chance to collapse and patch each other up and refuse to sleep (Ventus has slept long enough. The Realm of Darkness didn’t allow for sleep unless literally dying of exhaustion. Terra doesn’t want to contemplate the nightmares that await). They say their goodbyes, then step away. There’s much to be done. Ventus follows his friends, then stops as he sees a small grey figure hiding poorly behind a wall.

His hand has been marked by two masters for his waking life, grey and black swirled together. Hidden in Eraqus’ mark was a pale grey circle that nobody could ever explain. They still can’t explain it, nor why it brightened until it nearly shone with a light of its own when Ventus embraced the little dream eater, its paw glowing green.

Chirithy certainly won't tell them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One last chapter - next it's Naminé and a few bonus people thrown in!


	4. Chapter 4

Sora’s marks wax and wane over the two weeks between the final battle and the evening they all meet, the evening that starts the next chapter of their lives. Naminé knows this, but only because she’s been watching Riku’s soulmark. For all the influence she’s had on Sora’s life and Sora on hers, the bright blue patch had disappeared from her little finger when she’d returned to Kairi. She knows intimately that Kairi’s hue doesn’t change, at least, stares into mirrors and brushes her fingers across the pale pink over her heart in her lost moments. She has lots of those – when Riku isn't running missions for Master Yen Sid, he’s staring into space or training. He always ekes out an hour or two for her when he's no the Islands, but their conversation tends towards stilted comments on their everyday life, lapsing into awkward silences before someone leaves. Riku has tried to apologise, multiple times. He’s not very good at it – a downside of having someone as forgiving as Sora around all his life – he, Kairi and Sora don’t need words, Naminé supposes, but it’s not like Riku can approach the other people in his life like that.

Naminé hasn’t apologised for anything – it’s not Riku she owes her sorrys to.

She lets him be. The streaks of silver across her fingertips are strong, and she's content to let things go, for now. She puts in her days drawing, for once not to weave memories, but because she wants to – the hibiscus bushes growing outside the spare room beside Kairi’s empty one, the cat that follows her around and sits on her sketchbooks, the sunset over the water. Riku’s combat forms weave around plants and fish, accompanied sometimes by profiles of a tall, dark-haired man and a shorter, swarthy individual. (Kairi’s fathers accept her, kind and accommodating, but they all avoid one another except for meals. Naminé is unsure of how to approach… anything, really. Kairi’s fathers miss their daughter.)

She’s a little lonely, sure, but Riku’s been talking about getting everyone onto the Islands since she arrived. She wants to see Roxas and Xion (she doesn’t want to see them, ever, doesn’t want to face them. She stares into space, dreading their arrival. She buzzes with excitement, can’t wait ‘til they arrive.). She wants to meet this Ventus that apparently so looks like Roxas. She wants to see _everyone._

They arrive in dribs and drabs, skin plastered in marks. Ventus, Aqua and Terra get there first, someone named Chirithy apparently left behind as they step from their gliders (Later, Ventus promises to introduce Naminé to the dream eater). Naminé stares from behind Riku as Aqua pulls him into a short hug, Terra laughing and patting his shoulder at his awkwardness. He introduces them, Namine’s palm blotching blue-grey, golden-brown and a slightly brighter green, to accompany her silver-stained fingertips. The trip from the Land of Departure is over quickly by glider, and so Riku and Naminé have nearly a full hour to talk with the trio. Riku falls into deep, if not relaxed, conversation about training and master duties with Aqua and Terra. Naminé wouldn’t mind staying with them, the glint of light off shoulder armour perfect for marker, or perhaps oil paint (she has so many things to use, Riku bringing her to the art shop her first day there and buying everything she’d expressed any interest in. It was perhaps one of his ways to apologise, not really one she appreciated, but one she accepted if only to try everything). Ventus drags her away, though, dipping into pools and plucking at plants, talking a mile a minute all the time. He’s nothing like Roxas, really, Naminé thinks. He’s almost too bright, stories and questions and delighted remarks, no reservation or hesitance after knowing her for only a few minutes. Even when she watched Roxas with his digital friends he was quiet, hanging back to take things in.

It’s nice.

He asks her about the creatures in the rock pools, birds in the sky, the names of the flowers on the bushes. She could find out, could ask Riku or… Or. She could search the memories connected to her. Sora would remember the names, his life tucked away in her mental library from a year of sorting through it. She could reach out and brush Riku’s memories, tell Ventus what he wants to know.

“Sorry, Ventus, I don’t know. I haven’t learned them yet”

“Ah that’s OK, we can give them our own names!”

He catches her hand, tugs and pulls her on to the next rock pool. They take turns naming the creatures they see. 

They continue on like this for a while, ending up back near the others before a Gummi ship drops at the side of the Island, a little unsteady. Riku hisses in a breath from his spot on the sand, loud enough for Naminé to hear, and he gets up to greet the newcomers. Naminé follows, Ven heading back to sit with Terra and Aqua for a bit. Naminé isn't expecting the flood of teenagers, three of them startlingly familiar from the digital Twilight Town. There’s a cacophony of voices; shouting, introductions, laughter. They seem a happy bunch on the surface. (Roxas and Riku deliberately don’t look at one another. There’s a figure with blue hair hanging back as Axel tries to coax him out, both of them keeping a healthy distance from Hayner, Pence and Olette. Roxas and Xion are gripping one another’s hands, fingers white).

They’re perceptive, at least – Hayner looks around before marching up to Riku and demanding a tour, “we’re the only three here who’ve never been to these beaches, c’mon man, be a good host!”. Axel (“call me Axel, Lea, whatever you want, Naminé”) takes Isa’s hand (“Don’t call him Saíx, though, he’s Isa.”) and they head down to the water, a little ways away from the first trio. Ven offers them a hesitant wave.

She’s left with Roxas and Xion, three people who shouldn’t have existed, who exist definitively, defiantly, now. Roxas’ face is painted in an indigo handprint and a fiery orange-red streak, Xion with a similar smudge of red along the side of her face and presumably another colour on her palm where she grips Roxas’ hand. Bright patches of colour mark their forearms. They all hesitate, Naminé clutching her hands to her chest, looking down. There’s a choked noise, and she looks up to see the pair with their arms open wide and wobbly smiles.

She crashes into them and they stagger, sit, tangled around each other, laughing and crying and apologising and talking until Axel throws a seashell at them to warn of imminent Hayner. When they separate, Naminé has a bright band of gold on the back of her neck, brilliant white on the inside of Roxas’ forearm. Xion, hugging her from the side, had knocked their ankles together, and she has a vivid indigo mark along the side of her leg. Later, she’ll add a red-orange handprint to her shoulder, from Axel’s stilted apology. Much, much later, months, in fact, she’ll brush Isa’s arm on one of her visits and step away with a green wash on her elbow.

The evening passes in a blur of talking and laughter, competition and swapped colours. Naminé talks to everyone, meets the Twilight Town trio with splotches of orange, olive and red. Donald and Goofy thank her again and again, promising that Sora will too when he returns. (They leave yellow and blue patches behind, bright and cheerful). At one point it overwhelms her, too many people noticing her. She retreats to Isa and Axel’s spot, the two having been roped into a game of Frisbee. Xion comes to keep her company, shows her the different types of shells they can gather. They identify them with the help of a book Riku had given her earlier along with a silver print on her shoulder, in a rare moment of quiet (they’ll talk more, later, Xion’s tentative bond with Riku soured by the knowledge of DiZ and fake memories). Roxas skids beside them at one point, drops down and borrows the book to furiously skim through it, matching every shell they’ve gathered to its proper name. Ven joins them, too, and he and Naminé introduce the other pair to the creatures they’d discovered and named in the rock pools. Xion looks confused, her book not covering anything without a shell. Roxas looks strangely upset, and he and Xion share their Gummiphones, searching for the proper names of the creatures, taking photos and notes. Naminé tells Ven the names of the seashells she and Xion had collected.

Lea’s Frisbee lands near them and Ven dashes off to hurl it back. Roxas and Riku are dragged together by Terra, all glares and discomfort before they hurl themselves into a mad dash down the beach (Roxas and Riku crash against each other while looping around a palm tree. They leave murky patches on each other’s shoulders). Xion’s just showing her a Thalassa shell, when. Well.

Something happens.

There’s a rush of warmth in Naminé’s heart, like being enveloped by a beam of sunlight. Everyone turns as one to the bent Paopu tree. Sora’s marks, streaking hands and backs and hearts, all return to their former intensity – but only for a few seconds.

They fade again, a ghost of their proper hue.

(Not quite as faded as they could be, though).

The pink remains, though, as bright as it ever was for the people close to Kairi. She slips down off the bent tree, stands looking out over the horizon. Collapses.

Riku’s already dashing up to the bridge, and Naminé feels a nudge at her shoulder. Beside her, Roxas has joined Xion and they gesture for her to follow Riku. She goes.

Kairi has her head buried in Riku’s chest, shoulders heaving. Riku’s face is in her hair, arms tight around her, hands clenched in her hood. There’s no sign of Sora. They’re speaking to one another, low and urgent – promises, Naminé can make out, vows to get him back.

She feels like she’s intruding, she’s always, _always_ intruding when it comes to Sora.

She turns to leave, retreat to the distant clumps of people on the beach, and someone tackles her from behind. Kairi pulls her back into a hug, still crying, but inexplicably beaming through the tears.

“Naminé. I’m so happy I get to me- I’ve wanted- You’re here. You’re here! Hi. It's so good to meet you properly”

She’s been pretty stoic over the last few weeks, bad dreams and creeping memories squashed under sunny days and the cat and her sketchbooks. She's always been stoic: Sora wouldn't have woken up, Kairi wouldn't have escaped, had she given in when struck with a wave of fledgling emotions. For the first time in either of her lives, Naminé breaks down in tears.

Riku retreats, now, but to the other side of the bent tree, leaving the girls to stare out at the setting sun. Kairi holds Naminé, rocking her a little as she cries herself out, hand pressed to her heart and the vivid mark beneath her dress. The sun is low when they finally join Riku, and don’t make any plans.

They make a promise.

Naminé and Riku return to the beach, bade their friends farewell. Kairi lingers at the tree. There’ll be time for introductions later. For now, Naminé leads Kairi home. She leaves her in the kitchen with her parents, waits in Kairi’s room. Riku joins her, sneaking in through the window with practiced ease, and later, Kairi arrives.

Then they make their plans.

Naminé gets her gummiphone, finally, and spends the best part of a year between worlds.

The mayor of the Islands is always busy, running in and out and hauling papers and ledgers up and down from the study to the living room, but always asks her about her day, listens intently. His husband takes her to the only shopping centre on the Islands, helps her pick paints and sheets and furniture. The little room looking out over the bay looks quite different when they’re finished, not spare any more. Kairi’s away quite a bit, but comes home to yank Naminé out on the Gummiship, bring her to places perfect for a painting, to puzzles that she and Riku want another opinion on. Sometimes they leave Riku on the Islands and take off for a day, just the two of them, to another island or world or just to the beach. Those days are Naminé’s favourites.

The sofa in the cramped little house in Twilight town has a bundle of multicoloured blankets thrown over the back, in easy reach of anyone sleeping there. She spends lazy afternoons learning to skateboard, teaching the group to graffiti when that doesn’t work, and sprawling simply to talk and eat ice cream when people take offence to that. Dinner is a chaotic affair with five at the table, and she watches awkward silences develop into affectionate teasing and genuine fondness. She and Roxas and Xion lie awake, piled into one of the pair’s rooms, and talk about the things they can’t say in front of the other kids. They fall asleep, curled together on the floor, with red eyes and arms tight around each other. Kairi’s cat has kittens, and she brings one over for one of her stays. It falls in love with Isa and tolerates Lea.

Sometimes Kairi and Riku drag her away, and travelling back to the Islands or Twilight Town isn’t feasible. Sometimes it’s a matter of time, sometimes uncomfortable silences left behind. She’s spent a few weeks at Radiant garden, sleeping in one of the many spare rooms at the labs. Ienzo hands her tome after tome on magic that don't make any mention of memories, striding around the restored library as she trails after him (she can see the pale purple mark on the back of his neck, sometimes, matching the blue-grey painting the newly restored Even’s hand. Even himself is interesting to spend time with, always happy to divulge information about his work. He lacks Ienzo’s empathy for when she’s heard enough, though, terms and figures bouncing uselessly off her head. He lacks many of Ienzo’s colours, too, faint smears from the people helped by both, but only comfortable with one. Even has his grey-blue palm, though, his neat splodges of brown and deep purple visible on his arms when he removes his labcoat on occasion. Pale yellow and faint white on his other hand). Naminé decides she likes Radiant Garden, mostly. (She’s never marked with pale yellow, spends the rest of Ansem’s life avoiding him, and he her after that first intense apology. It’s for the best.)

She meets the inhabitants of Disney Castle, spends time in the Land of Departure (Chirithy is sweet, likes to curl up next to her in comfortable silence as she draws). Yuffie crashes into her with a shriek, white smudges joining yellow and brown and pink, the ninja’s other multitude of colours from a life spent in a haven world. She spends an afternoon with Rapunzel, her new smear of purple covered in paint. Ariel takes her swimming, leaves bright red on her hand. Quasimodo shows them the rooftops of Paris, Naminé and her friends all gathered together and marked with cheerful green for the Feast of Fools, music and joy and a rainbow of clothes, costumes, marks. Kairi jokes that she’s heading the same way as Sora with all of her marks. Naminé’s a little proud of that, desperate as she is to see the worlds and their people through her own eyes for the first time. She still wears white, a canvas for the marks that gather over that first year of the rest of her life.

It’s an interesting year. Fighting, running, sanctuary. She explores new places, learns new things, makes meaningful memories of her own (Her control over her memory-altering powers remains unknown. She hasn’t used them. She doesn’t want to, and so she doesn’t). The search for Sora isn’t easy, everyone chipping in at times. The Gummiphones are a lifesaver – they connect the groups when someone finds something, be it a clue, some research, or a new world helped by a mysterious person marked by the rainbow. They warn them of enemies new and old, unwanted faces showing up to taunt and steal, impede and abduct. They help, at midnight, when everything seems helpless and impossible, or someone isn't answering their calls, or they all just need to be reminded of one another.

Sometimes she, Riku and Kairi look out over a new sky, the most beautiful thing Naminé’s seen until the next amazing sight presents itself. Sometimes Namine’s glad to sit down to dinner in a cosy island kitchen, safe and away from everything.

Nearly a year later, she’s left with two shining blue marks along her cheeks, Sora catching her face and pressing a kiss to her forehead in tearful, joyful, wonderful thanks.

Finally.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

_A bunch of little do-gooders, running around on a beach and painting each other with alllll the colours their little hearts can carry._

_Ha! _

_They’re adorable. Wouldn’t catch me doing that, though. Sure, it’s sweet and all, but then ya get all these pesky little questions about why your colours are for people dead thousands of years. Or not, I suppose, given I’ve gathered you all here today._

_That was the good thing about becoming a nobody, anyway – cleared up those paint splatters what fast (except for the thing on my chest, but hey, I can’t get that off. Get it? Ah, you’re no fun)._

_But that’s the end of the story._

_Happy little lights, earning their happy little ending. Except for Mr. rainbow himself, but Kairi and Riku’ll fetch him back, noooo problemo._

_Happily ever after, am I right?_

_As if._

_Watch. This is gonna get _interesting_._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all folks!
> 
> (M I legally allowed to say that?)
> 
> I'm working on a new kh fic, a much longer work that I'm excited to start uploading in September. In the meantime, I hope yis enjoyed this work, thank you so much for all comments, bookmarks and subscriptions!!

**Author's Note:**

> Next up is the Sea Salt squad!


End file.
